


boys who kiss boys (and come back for more)

by ltab



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Descriptions of Injury, M/M, Multi, dudes get their collective shit together, this is just... the rarest of pairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltab/pseuds/ltab
Summary: Matthews is twenty one years old. Bitters is twenty two. Smith, twenty three.High school was such a distant, short lived memory for all three of them, yet these feelings are such a thing of adolescence.





	boys who kiss boys (and come back for more)

When they win the war and Hargrove is arrested, Smith doesn't expect the first post-war interaction he has with Bitters to be the orange lieutenant shoving him into an abandoned corridor on the crashed Hand of Merope in Crash Site Bravo.

“What the Hell?” he sputters, too confused and alarmed to stop himself. Bitters clutches the breastplate of his armor and single-handedly whips his helmet off.

Deep brown hair— tips still bleached from an impulsive dye job— spills from his ponytail, frames his warm, dark skin. Smith's eyes linger on the ear cuff; the hint of a stick and poke under his ear, under his kevlar. “Don't ‘ _what the Hell_ ’ me, John, tell me why you were jumping fucking bullets for everyone else in the battle we just had! I was telling you to stand down!”

“I was protecting the younger rebels, Bitters,” Smith answers succinctly, reaching up to follow Bitters’ actions and remove his helmet, “were you not doing the same?”

“ _Protecting_ doesn't mean unnecessarily shoving yourself under Mantises to save people. I don't care if you could lift those things like they don't weigh anything— you and Matthews both keep fucking putting yourselves in danger to feel validated and it's fucking stupid.”

Bitters lets go of his breastplate, but doesn't back off. “I'm so fucking sick of _all_ of you thinking we need you to throw yourself into danger just to get everyone else to like you. Not in _this_ army. You're not expendable.”

“Bitters, why are you so worked up over this?”

“Samson _died_ because of me,” Bitters snaps, expression hard, eyes unwavering, “Fernando lost an arm because of me. Mccallister is deaf in one ear because of me. If the same shit had happened to you and Matthews because I didn't tell you to stand down soon enough—”

“You can't keep blaming yourself over all of these casualties, Antoine, we were in war—”

“Matthews is in critical condition right _now_.”

Smith pauses. That isn't news he likes hearing. He saw Matthews nearly die to a Mantis, even when he was feet away it made his heart stop.

Bitters finally drops his tense posture, rubbing at the nape of his neck with a gloved hand. “You lost a lot of blood from the fight. Volleyball, Ahmed, Palomo and Jensen, too. But I at _least_ got to check on them and pull them away from near-death during the fight. You and Matt were— you guys were impossible to keep track of. And for some _fucking_ reason, losing either of you would've been the last fucking straw for me.”

Bitters crosses his arms. His eyes aren’t on Smith, averted in an odd, out of character way; this is the most timid and embarrassed Smith has ever seen him. Smith brings a hand up, but it stops in mid air before dropping again. “I don't get it. Why?”

“No,” Bitters defies, throwing up his hands and shaking his head, “no, I'm not going to tell you why because you're trying to get us to have a moment—”

“Antoine, I'm just _worried_ because you're upset about this—”

“Stop _calling me Antoine_ , you know I—”

“You're _avoiding_ the question—”

Smith knows it's these arguments that piss Bitters off the most. _Their_ arguments— because they only ever argue when it's something serious, and Bitters hates that because _all_ their conversations are arguments.

Back and forths usually never end well for either of them— it made their relationship rocky when they were both promoted to lieutenants, and made it harder for everyone to stay hopeful when they thought the Reds and Blues died.

These things never end well.

So Smith sees it— he pinpoints the second Bitters gets fed up, the second he looks like he's ready to deck Smith as hard as he can. He sees it with the change in posture, the furrow of Bitters’ brow, the—

the hand that grabs the hair at the back of his head, that yanks him down; the lips that press to his in the most unorthodox, _Bitters_ way possible.

Kissing Bitters is like fighting with him. Bitters kisses hard and angrily, his hand tight in Smith’s hair. Their noses bump and it hurts but doesn't stop them.

It's _better_ than fighting with him; when it's over, Smith is breathless.

“That's why,” Bitters mutters, shoving Smith away from him and turning the opening of his helmet upward, “Because if you two fucking _dumbasses_ died without me at least doing _that_  I would've lost my mind.”

It wasn't in his plans today to relieve a year of pent up emotions within seconds, but it quickly becomes a task. He acts before he processes; throws his own helmet down and knocks Bitters’ away before Bitters can reequip it, cups his chin to tilt his head up, and kisses him. He first tries to be gentle and coordinated, but Bitters’ hand quickly returns to his hair while his own finds Bitters’ hip.

Every boundary he's built between himself and Bitters comes crashing down at once. Bitters isn't anywhere near as strong as Smith, but he manages to push Smith back against the wall and cock his head, making it clear that he’s been waiting for this for awhile.

And, despite this reciprocation, he still pulls back first to utter, “What the _Hell_?!”

“Oh, so now you’re going to ‘what the Hell’ _me_ ,” Smith huffs, tone sarcastic and unamused. He leans back to collect himself, reflect on what's going on, but there's no regret or guilt about _any_ of this.

Interesting.

Bitters’ hand tightens in his hair, and Bitters shakes his head. “ _I_ was planning on storming off and never bringing this up again, but apparently I don't have to because you fucking  _want_ to kiss me back.”

“I like you,” Smith shrugs. If Bitters is going to confront him _this_ unconventionally, he's not going to spare Bitters the sugar coating. “I've liked you for awhile. You came in here, shoved me into the wall, and started talking about how you thought I was going to get myself killed. _I'm_ the one who should be surprised, not _you_.”

“I'm fucking high on adrenaline,” Bitters says under his breath, more to himself than anything. He leans up and presses a crooked kiss to the corner of Smith's mouth, a kiss that's quickly corrected with a tilt of the head from Smith.

And they do that for awhile, because Smith can't give it up. Every time Bitters pulls away, Smith reels him back in. When he finally gets a hold of himself, he just breathes, “Addictive.”

“That's just the nicotine from the cig I smoked before I did this,” Bitters intones, and Smith doesn't know if he's joking or not, doesn't _care_ , frankly. Bitters sighs and stares at him, saying nothing for a second. “We're so fucked up.”

“Why do you say that?”

Bitters shrugs, his arms relaxing where they're propped around Smith's shoulders, all previous tension and ferocity leaving his posture. “We were teenagers in war. We grew up fighting a fake, fucked up fight. Palomo has put people down without thinking twice about it and he’s only eighteen. Katie’s seventeen and she still tries teaching herself ninth grade science. Matt thinks it's normal to have at least one severe injury a week. It's all fucked.”

“It's all fucked,” Smith agrees, and Bitters doesn't react to it at all, just nods. “How bad is Matthews doing?”

“He's completely deaf in his left ear and losing it in his right, needs hearing aids. Five stitches on his upper body, three on his face alone. Concussed from the blow. Arm’s completely mangled, Grey said she'd have to amputate it. He's been passed out every time I check up on him.”

Smith breathes out through his nose. “I'm really worried about him.”

“Me too.”

“Are you going to talk to him too when he gets better?”

Bitters blinks, then leans back. “ _Huh_?”

“About… this,” Smith explains in confusion, “Whatever this is you're feeling. I'm assuming it's the same—”

“What? Where'd you get the idea that— that I'm feeling the same way about Matt?”

“You _kissed_ me then said that you would've lost your mind if you didn't get the chance to do it to me and Matthews, I quote, ‘ _you two dumbasses_ ’!”

Bitters lets go of Smith, pushing Smith's hands off his waist, shaking his head. “I am, yeah, alright? I just don't want you to think it's _weird_ that I like both of you. And it's the first time in awhile I'm actually _holding out hope_ that things turn out okay, so I was _hoping_ you wouldn't say anything about it—”

“No, it's not weird, I like him, too,” Smith blurts, and Bitters stares at him, hard. He sighs and backtracks. “He's going to be fine, Antoine. You know how resilient he is. And Doctor Grey is more than capable of keeping him alive and well.”

Bitters’ stare is firm, like he's still trying to read something on Smith's face. He gives up after a moment, turning and leaning down to pick up their helmets. He thrusts Smith's at the blue trimmed soldier.

“When Matthews is better, all three of us _are_ going to talk about this,” he says decidedly. Before reequiping his helmet, he reaches up to pull Smith down again and kiss him one more time. “Not now, because there's a lot of shit going down, but I  _want_ this to work out.”

“Okay,” Smith agrees easily. Bitters kisses his cheek this time, then pulls his helmet back on and leaves with that.

Smith completely forgot why he was on the Hand of Merope in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> up next: bitters has a moment with matthews
> 
> EDIT: i didnt fucking mention that any rebel whose name is unidentifiable here is just an oc. ahmed's my favorite one he's a lieutenant thank you for listening
> 
> EDIT EDIT: also i normally type in all lowercase which is why there r some capitalization errors im so sorry
> 
> updates on this r slow because i have 0 drive and motivation thank youu
> 
> stan this ship now clowns. follow me on tumblr, @femmejensen


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